Must Be Magic
by uptowardsthesky
Summary: A series of drabbles and short stories about the characters in the world of Harry Potter. Chapter Five: "since when had they become like that? they used to be so beautiful to her, to others, now they were sharp and wary all the time."
1. Yellow

**AUTHOR'S NOTE**: Hello, all! I'm Sarah, and here is my first entry on this site. I'm not going to have any author's notes in the future unless I need to explain something or some other such thing, but I thought I should explain, of course! This is going to be a series of drabbles and the like for Harry Potter based on the FanFic 100 challenge over yonder at LiveJournal. I haven't claimed it- I'm just using the prompts! I am fond of drabbles, you know. I'll be updating this, honestly, when I feel like it! I also find it fair to warn you that although I do support many, many shippings there will be copious amounts of Ron/Hermione in here, as it is my favorite ship, in any fandom… ever. However, there are also going to be a TON of simply friendship things and such. It's rated just in case- I'm not entirely sure what I'll end up doing with most of it. I also do support and may include some slahs pairings. Anyway, I've rambled long enough. I hope you enjoy!

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**013: Yellow**

"Yellow's lucky," She told him, and he smiled.

Of course it was.

It was the color of those sunflowers she loved that grew taller than they did in their backyard, turning around to face the sun all the time, matching the sunflowers they were now painting together and her herself, always finding the bright side to things and chasing down what she wanted. It was the color of her hair, long and almost wild because she thought brushing it into submission too much was unhealthy, but he loved it anyway. It was the color she chose for their wedding, draping the hall with yellow streamers and balloons that flew all about by magic, entertaining the guests who all knew her well enough to take this in their stride. It was the color of happiness, joy, and luck.

It was the color they now painted the small room together, big and cheerful and welcoming to the guest that hadn't yet arrived, but was eagerly expected.

"Yellow's lucky." Neville agreed, smiling as he splashed some of the bright paint onto Luna as the yellow sun set outside of the window to the baby's room.


	2. Storm

**070: Storm**

She remembered when they were all much, much younger and things were much, much simpler. Well, as simple as they ever got in their family, anyway.

She remembered when there was a storm, the two younger sisters would move to the eldest's room, almost always at the same time (when there was a particularly loud thunder clap, of course). But, you know, she hadn't been afraid- surely not! Well, perhaps a little. But it didn't mean if she was scared or not, because these trips were not just to find comfort: they were to give it as well.

Andy and Cissy would climb into Bella's large bed and they would take turns looking out the window, shivering in the cold and doing their best to calm each other, trying to keep their own nervousness or fear out of the way for they certainly couldn't go to their parents for comfort. No, fear was not becoming of a Black, and none of them wanted their parents to look down on them (it was hard enough that they were all disappointingly female, as was pointed out to them as much as possible). They only had each other to turn to in those days, but it was enough. Eventually the storm would die down and so would their excitement, and they would fall asleep.

It wasn't until Bella left for Hogwarts that things started to change slowly but surely, and soon the rift that had formed in the sister's relationship was beyond repair. Now they had all gone their separate ways, and she was reminded that she had a husband and child of her own as she heard them laughing in the next room over the sound of rain pounding on the windows. She wouldn't trade them for the world; they were her world, now. But, sometimes Andy missed who her sisters used to be.

But, sometimes, Andy wished for those stormy nights when they at least had each other


	3. Insides

**004: Insides**

His insides were on fire.

He couldn't remember feeling this sick since Fred dared him to drink some of the magical cleaning liquid their mother kept in the cabinet, and while he had thrown up quite a lot then he had certainly not been throwing up slugs.

It was his own fault- his wand was broken, he should have realized it wouldn't work quite the way he expected it to. But he hadn't been thinking of that. He'd been thinking of how angry he was, because how _dare_ Malfoy call her that, call her a _mudblood. _Sure, she was a pain and a bushy-haired know-it-all, but she was still smart and had more magical skill than any pure-blooded witches or wizards in their year.

And besides all of that, what was perhaps most important was the fact that she was… his friend. And he wasn't going to let Malfoy talk to her like that. So as the jeers of the Slytherin Quidditch team followed them off the pitch, Ron couldn't help but feel glad, if only because he had succeeded in having them bully him instead of her.


	4. He

054: He

She smiled and told him over and over again that it was a girl, it had to be a girl, they were always girls. Her mother had gone through the same thing with her father, and hadn't they had two girls? Veela blood was funny like that: he'd never seen a male veela, had he?

Bill would just grin and ask her if she'd ever seen a female Weasley other than Ginny.

But Ginny broke it, she would inform him as if she knew all about these sorts of things. Ginny broke it thoroughly; no more curse (if you believed in that sort of thing, but she'd seen stranger in her time). And if it could really be called a "curse" anyway; it wasn't so bad only having boy or girl children. Her parents had managed, hadn't they?

But Bill would refuse to listen, running his hand on her inflated stomach and cheerfully rattling off a list of boy names (how the Weasley's hadn't run out yet, she'd never know).

He was stubborn. But so was she. And she had the last laugh in the matter when Victoire was born (although they were both too stunned at the new life to pay too much attention to the argument; they'd had so much death for so long).

The argument was dragged out again with Dominique. Bill would tell Fleur every now and then, it's a boy, I know it's a boy. It wasn't so much that he wanted a boy so much as it was a familiar argument to him. Every time his mother was pregnant (five times after him, six babies after him although he felt a sharp stab of sadness, guilt, pain at the thought) his family would argue. This one's a girl for sure, someone would pipe up. No, no, definitely a boy! and so on, and in his family that "so on" could last quite a while.

When Dominique was born, he accepted his defeat in the argument happily for once again he had a newborn daughter; wasn't that enough to be happy with? The argument was hardly brought up when Fleur informed him once more that she was pregnant (they were going to give his parents a run for their money at this rate).

He had begun to accept that perhaps this Veela blood was a little stronger than he'd previously thought and had readied his list of girl baby names with his wife and daughters when he was rushed into St. Mungo's with Fleur for the delivery of a newborn boy.


	5. Touch

038: Touch

When she was born, Fleur refused to put her down. She walked around the house, clutching the newborn to her like a lifeline, like if she put her down she would disappear (disappear, die, like everyone she'd seen die right in front of her). Others were allowed to hold her: Bill, her family, his family, they all got their fair share of the new baby. But she never left them, staying nearby, eyes like a hawk (since when had they become like that? they used to be so beautiful to her, to others, now they were sharp and wary all the time) and she was always given back as soon as possible and the new mother would have to reassure herself that the baby was fine, she was fine, stop worrying, you're being silly, but she really is alright, isn't she? It was a desperate need to make sure she was healthy, breathing even, that devoured her life night and day. It affected Bill, too, and they would both sit home from work and watch, wait, wait for the inevitable to happen and their baby to be taken from them somehow (like all those who'd died, like Fred, oh, God, like Fred, like the children that had been killed young, so so young, the baby round features still apparent in the stillness and silence of death) and when it didn't come it only made her more nervous. Was it waiting for the right moment? The second she let her guard down? Then it would be her fault, their fault, and they would have to live with it just like they lived with everything else and she would pick the baby up and walk around the kitchen, avoiding the window and the view of the grave in the garden as these thoughts overtook her and made it hard to breathe.

It was so, so slow, babies grew so slowly, who ever said it was fast was wrong wrong wrong, but even growing wouldn't help, everyone died, it didn't matter how old…. eventually, the fear was weathered down. It still existed- a parent's fear, Molly would tell her, turning her back to stir a pot so that Fleur couldn't see her face, so she knew she wasn't alone. Eventually it lessened to that it didn't take up every crevice of her life and she could leave the toddler with her grandmother while she went to work (only having to say goodbye three, two times before she could leave) but it wasn't until she could let her stay overnight there so that she and Bill could have some "much-needed rest" that she could smile to herself and think, maybe, just maybe, she's be alright, they're all be alright, things were over and they could enjoy the victory, that it wouldn't stop them from remembering what it cost.


End file.
